


Tears to Tiara

by Rahar_Moonfire



Category: Merlin (TV), Tears to Tiara
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, Elves, M/M, Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1985733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahar_Moonfire/pseuds/Rahar_Moonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He foretold disaster, but Pwyll refused to believe. Now Arawn sleeps the sleep of death leaving Pwyll to flee for his life seeking sanctuary from the Druids that hunt him.  He arrives at Camelot just as Morgause's army of the undead are vanquished by an unknown power.   Curious but hopeful of finally finding aid, he makes his way into the keep unaware of the law against magic until he meets a human boy with magic to rival a Spirit's.</p><p>Crossover with "Tears to Tiara" which ironically doesn't have a section here on AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears to Tiara

He ran as fast as his feet could carry him, but he was weak and tired and had been on the run for days. He snagged rest when he had the chance, stole food when the opportunity presented itself, and drank only when his throat was too parched to breathe. He was exhausted but refused to stop. He had to keep going. He couldn't afford to be captured. Not now. It was too soon.

The sound of heavy hooves crushing the foliage behind him echoed in the memory, egging him on. Damn those accursed clerics. They never gave up. How he desperately wanted to call his friend Arawn for help, but he was still comatose. It was too soon to wake him. He wasn't completely recovered yet.

Even with all that in mind, the runner was still beginning to tire. Even an Elf of his lineage could not keep this up for much longer. He could run for a while at this pace, but even Elves had to rest. At least the Gravitas that permeated his homeland was starting to weaken here in Albion. Pity he wouldn't last much longer in this state.

Just as he was about to despair, an eerie sound reached his ears. Instantly, a sense of dread filled his heart. He knew that sound all too well. Bones clicking against each other. The undead. Someone had summoned the undead.

But how? His pursuers? Surely not. With any luck, they'd lost his trail during the night. Who would be foolish enough to call upon the undead? They do not differentiate between friend or foe. Summoning them was like wielding a double edged sword and gripping the blade.

Now was not the time to dwell on such matters. As soon as the first skeleton creatures came into view, he drew his sword. The ebony and blue blade glinting in the sunlight.

"Dyrnwin!" he cried, attacking the creatures, cutting them down systematically.

It wasn't until moments later that he saw the great walls of what could only be the castle of this land. Then, without warning, the skeletons collapsed, dissipated, or somehow retreated back the way they came.

Stunned, the newcomer simply stood alert, waiting for some sort of trick. Thankfully, there was nothing. Myrrdin be blessed.

Turning back to the castle, he couldn't help but wonder who or what had made the wretche undead retreat. Perhaps a weapon such as that would prove useful to him. Aftet all, it was his duty as Pwyll, King of the Elves, to live and protect his people at anycost.

_Arawn, if you can hear me, I am far from home. I have yet to find a way to stop this plague of Gravitas, but I may have found a weapon to help us fight against our enemy. Please, dear friend, heal quickly so I can see your face again. I will wait as long as I am able. I am forever yours, Lucifer._


End file.
